


The Red King's Court

by Rhiw



Category: Hellboy (Movies), Hellboy - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because demon biology, Body Language, Cousin Incest, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Feral Behavior, Fluff and Angst, Hellboy is not up-to-date about his own kind, Incest, Intersex, Jealousy, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Porn With Plot, Seriously someone buy him a biology book, Tail Masterbation, Tail Sex, Tail body langauge, Tails, Torture, body image issues, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7444009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiw/pseuds/Rhiw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Myers, a young Omega half-devil, reports to his new assignment for the FBI. Only to find he's working for America’s top paranormal defense unit. To his growing horror, his newly assigned partner is none other than Hellboy - Anung Un Rama, the Right Hand of Doom, cousin twice over through is paternal and maternal line. And a true Alpha of his kind.</p><p>Unsurprisingly, he's caught rather quickly. Now an accused spy and prisoner of the BPRD, John struggles to prove himself not a threat...and to deny the building attraction he feels for his obstinate, blindingly prideful cousin. While Hellboy, utterly uninformed on anything regarding his species, fights his own frustration - and questions his sexuality - at being filled with the urge to bend his new found kin over anything and everything.</p><p>And then Liz comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Red King, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He, John Myers, sixty-second generation witch and half-devil, was working for America’s – no the worlds – top paranormal defense unit. He didn’t know if he should laugh himself silly or cry. And Hellboy. It had taken all of John’s willpower not grasp his wrist tightly, covering the engraved tattoo there that kept his demon form locked behind his human visage. It was a spell, a complicated one, the last blessing his mother had ever given him before Baba Yagi had claimed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed. Damn ships won't leave me alone. ::grumbles:: Chapter count subject to change.

When that elevator had descended into the depths of the BPRD, John had pretty much figured he was dead in the water. When he’d felt his mother’s spell swell and surge, fighting off the wards placed around the building (yet gloriously held firm) John knew it was all over. Years of hiding, years of acclimating himself to being a human, _lost._ All because he’d been intrigued enough to accept a promotion to a branch of the FBI he knew nothing about.

John was, as his mother used to say, _Grade A stupid._

In truth, John liked working for the FBI, which really made him the bigger idiot. The academy was fun; figuring out how fake his initial health tests had been the best challenge he’d had in nearly ten years. He’d breezed through his classes (John had always had a strong mind that leaned towards book learning) and the physical requirements were a joke to someone like himself. It had been an interesting trial in self-control, however, and John viewed the complements to his restraint he’d learn there invaluable.

He’d been all set up to accept a post in LA when it came through the wire that he’d been handpicked for something greater, a special ops unit that worked on a need-to-know, highly classified nature. John had been rather intrigued and slightly ecstatic by it. He’d justified joining the FBI as hiding in plain sight, that the best offense was a good defense, and as long as he worked with them he’d access to their systems whenever he liked. He could monitor, and if necessary, erase any mentions or trails that could lead to himself.

But when he’d shown up at the BPRD, when he’d been told what those initials stood for and Dr. Bruttenholm started rambling on about the Occult Wars and other paranormal entities…John began to panic. Lucky, his panic appeared to all around him as a natural response to being exposed to the paranormal for the first time and not – you know – honest to god, pants-shitting terror. The fish man – _Abe_ – was apparently some sort of fucking genius, but thankfully he’d fallen for the rather extensive backstory John's mother had fabricated.

It wasn’t until he’d been deployed with Hellboy that John started to think that maybe, just _maybe,_ this wasn’t one big trap. That somehow (and Jesus, was that even possible?) that the BPRD had no idea who he was – what he was – and had hired him. The irony of it, of course, was not lost on John.

He, _John Myers,_ sixty-second generation witch and half-devil, was working for America’s – no the world's – top paranormal defense unit.

He didn’t know if he should laugh himself silly or cry. And _Hellboy._ It had taken all of John’s willpower not grasp his wrist tightly, covering the engraved tattoo there that kept his demon form locked behind his human visage. It was a spell, a complicated one, the last blessing his mother had ever given him before Baba Yagi had claimed her.

Hellboy, Anung Un Rama, the Right Hand of Doom, cousin twice over through is paternal and maternal line, was standing right before him in all his scarlet glory. A true Alpha of his kind. John’s tail squeezed him until he could barely breathe, the appendage wrapped tightly around his waist. While the spell hid any trace of it from the physical world, John liked to keep there, liked to know where it was. It was comforting.

Hellboy was a thousand times more intimidating then John had ever imagined him to be, towering over his smaller and more lithe form, his tail twice as thick as John’s. And his horns – oh goddess, what had he done to them? John couldn’t help but stare, expression surely locked between revulsion and horror, at the ground down little nubs. His own horns curled back like a goats, tucked tightly against his skull. While they weren’t overly sensitive by any means, the idea of cutting them off was unimaginable.

Here, he’d really thought it was over. Surely Hellboy would recognize him, especially when John felt a strange tug of awareness – an acknowledgement deep inside him of _kin_. But no, still. Nothing.

John was still waiting for a squad to jump out, guns loaded with iron and holy water at the ready, and shout _“Surprise!”_ when he’d been rushed out into the field. To go after Sammael, the Resurrected, one of the Demon Hound Kings of Hell, naturally. Decades John had managed to stay away from his own kind and now, in the space of a single evening, he’d run into two. 

And Hellboy had no idea what he was up against, that was clear. John leaned heavily against brick wall behind him, knees weak from nerves and wondered just what the hell he was doing. Hellboy had told him to stay back and if John had any sense he’d do just that. Sammael was no joke; he was the King of Devil-hounds and while he may not have been on par with any of the Dukes of Hell, the fact that he’d risen so high amongst his own kind meant something.

Something bad.

And yet here John was, charging in after his errant cousin. It was clear that Hellboy had no real appreciation – or knowledge – of what he was up against; to kill Sammael would only make him resurrect himself, going in with blazing guns just wouldn’t be enough. John knew this from his mother, who’d shared whatever knowledge she’d had about the denizens of Hell (which, honestly, wasn’t much and limited to the nobility) and Sammael had been among those mentioned.

He whipped around the corner, eyes wide at the sight of Hellboy being mawed, and opened fire. It was a useless act, John knew that even before he began firing, and yet he couldn’t seem to stop. Sammael did something, shook and sprinted to the left, and suddenly he was on John. Hellboy followed not a moment later, ripping the demonhound from his prone form, but the damage had been done.

John screamed, high pitched and terrible, as he cradled his injured wrist against his chest. The devil had most likely meant to take off the hand holding his gun, but instead – thanks to Hellboy – all he’d managed to do was pull the skin from his wrist and hand in one, long, stringy pull.

And his mother’s spell along with it.

John croaked out a denial, feeling the magic around him fade, seeing the purplish-grey tint spreading across his already healing skin. He looked up, eyes wide, to find an equally wide-eyed Hellboy staring at him and Sammael was nowhere in sight. John got up on unsteady legs and took a shaking step away from the bigger demon, tail flagging in alarm as Hellboy’s stupidly large gun was suddenly pointed at him.

“Don’t move, motherfucker.”

John froze, tail drooping before wrapping tightly around his waist. “I swear, this isn’t nearly as nefarious as whatever you’re thinking.”

“Uh-huh.” The gun cocked. “Sell me another one.”

He should of just fucking _left._

 _Grade A stupid,_ his mother’s voice echoed, and John couldn’t help but wholeheartedly agree with her. “I swear, I didn’t come here to – to infiltrate or spy or anything. I didn’t even know that I was being assigned to the BPRD, much less what it is. If I had any idea, I would never of – I just – I just wanted to hide.”

He could hear the desperation in his voice, but his cousin’s face was unreadable.  The gun wavered ever so slightly and when Hellboy spoke next his tone matched it, “why the fuck do you smell so good?”

John shivered at the demanding tone. In his true form he could smell Hellboy much clearer, so he could only imagine the true was in reverse. The Alpha’s scent was crisp, smoky, and it spoke of pure strength. Like humans, demons only had two genders; Alphas were male, while Omegas were females. Unlike humans though, a demon’s gender could hardly be determined via sight alone. John was a female of his kind, despite the fact that he looked very much male in both his human and devil forms.

“I – that’s not important,” John forced out, unwilling to have the birds-and-the-bees conversation right now. “Just let me go, I’ll leave right now. I don’t want to hurt anyone, I just – I just want to hide. You’ll never see me again. _Please.”_

There had be some way he could reactivate the spell. Even if there wasn’t, John would just retreat away, hide somewhere where deprived of humans. Even in modern day America such places still existed. His tail whipped around him in his panic and bright yellow eyes followed the moves, seemingly entranced. He probably was. This was quite possibly the first time Hellboy had seen a demon of his own class and race before. John could relate.

“Please, out of all people you should understand. I didn’t ask to be born like this. My mother managed to hide me –”

A sudden weight on his back caused his words to end in a high pitched cry, body jolting forward as a heavy weight slammed into him from behind. Cursing John reached back with both hands, nails digging into Sammael’s haunches even as the devildog sunk his teeth into his shoulder. He threw the demon away with enough force that he went stumbling forward – and right into a broad chest. A hand was suddenly gripping his arm tightly, yanking him behind his cousin’s imposing form as Hellboy’s gun sent Sammael flying backwards.

The demon shrieked, growling at them before vaulting up the wall and out of the alleyway.

“Fuck.” Hellboy cursed, his grip still iron-like around John’s wrist. He spoke darkly into his communication unit. “He’s moving into the city. I can’t go after him, there’s been a complication. I need a containment unit.”

“No,” John breathed, horrified, “no, you can’t do this!” He began to try and free himself in earnest, but Hellboy’s grip was immovable. “Please! Don’t do this, cousin _please!”_

Suddenly the giant Alpha swirled on him, bright eyes blazing, as his stone hand gripped John’s sweater front tightly. “The fuck you just say?”

“Don’t tell me you can’t feel it.” John babbled, half-hysterical. “I felt it the moment we first met, even with the restraining spell. We’re – we’re cousins, through our fathers. Though…though I can’t say their names. Don’t you know anything?”

Hellboy lips curled up in a snarl, but he said nothing for a long moment. Then, quietly; “…cousin, huh.”

John latched onto the pondering doubt in his voice like the lifeline it was. He grasped onto the bigger half-devil’s stone arm with both hands, feeling dizzy at how small they seemed against it. “Please, _please, cousin,_ let me go. They’ll…they’ll _hurt_ me.”

Hellboy’s resolve wavered, John could see it, but it was already over. Seconds later and the alleyway was suddenly crawling with agents. “Sorry, kid.” He said quietly, catching the blessed handcuffs tossed his way, seemingly uncaring that they made the skin of his palm – and John’s wrists - sizzle, “too late.”

* * *

John Myers – if that was even the liar’s real name – seemed incredibly small as he hunched down in the interrogation seat, arms and legs bound by heavily enchanted restraints. Hellboy swore he could scent his fear, potent and unrelenting against his sensitive senses, even through the one-way mirror that separated them. Myers looked like a smaller version of himself, though he didn’t have the stone arm and was far slimmer, all round curves and slender slopes. His skin was a dusky pale purplish-grey and slim, curving horns so utterly unlike his own rested in a mass of silky-soft looking grey curls, but his eyes were the same startling amber that Hellboy saw in the mirror every morning. His tail was quivering from between his legs, betraying his nervousness even as he sat ramrod straight in the chair.

Hellboy didn’t buy this harmless act for a second, even if the sight of the fear on the smaller demon’s features made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably. And he did feel _something;_ it was a strange pull towards Myers, an odd urge to keep him near, to keep him close, something so natural that had it not appeared so abruptly when Sammy had skinned the fuckers arm he’d of believed it. Hellboy didn’t know what Myers had been hoping to achieve by getting into the BPRD, but he was going to make sure he didn’t get it.

Abe floated in his tunnel nearby, watching the interview with great fascination, and Hellboy grunted an acknowledgement as his father hobbled into the room, leaning heavily on his walking cane as he watched two of the BRPD more…uniquely trained agents…question Myers.

“Let’s try this again.” One of them, a deceptively scrawny looking man with glasses and a mustache named Bollers asked calmly, his pinky pushing his glasses back up his nose. “What is your name?”

“My name is Johnathan Cain Myers–”

“Your _real_ name, demon.” The second interrogator, Aehler, interrupted, voice harsh.

Myers’ eyes fluttered shut in what could be frustration, before opening to stare blankly at the table before him, a single, oily tear tracking down his cheek. “My name is John Myers; I’m not a denizen of Hell, I’ve never even stepped foot in the place. I’m a half-breed, they’re not overly fond of my kind. I was born to Mary Nurse in 1952 in Omaha, Nebraska-”

“Nurse. Mary Nurse.” Bollers asked, voice flat. “As in the daughter of Rebecca Nurse, from the Salem witch trials.”

Hellboy could literally see Myers gritting his teeth together. “Yes. Witches can live a long time if they wish to. I graduated from the University of Nebraska in 2000 with a double major in anthropology and criminal justice. I graduated from Quantico in 2002. When I received my orders to report to the BRPD I had no idea that the department even existed, much less what it was or did.”

“So this is just, some kind of…strange coincident that you ended up here.” Bollers sneered, leaning back in his seat. “Parading around our base, learning our secrets in that human suit of yours.”

“Yes.” Myers said, tone short. “Trust me, if I had any idea what this place was I would have run the other direction.”

“Mmhm,” Bollers hummed slowly, hands folding neatly atop the table. His head cocked to the side, before he sighed. “What is your name?”

Myers let out a defeated sound, head hanging. “My name is John-”

The rest of his sentence peeled off into a shrieking yowl, the glowing sigils carved into the seat glowing brightly, and the sound was so loud and unexpected that Hellboy started, arms uncurling abruptly from where they'd been crossed at his chest. His fingers twitched at his thighs, lips curling and uncurling as he fought off a snarl. The light cut off and Myers fell forward, chest heaving, and Hellboy forced himself to take a deep breath, ignoring the concerned stares of both his father and Abe as rage burn hotly in his chest.

The whole thing was nonsensical; he shouldn’t feel such a strong urge to protect and shelter someone who was so clearly a spy – an _enemy_ – but it was there nonetheless. A queer, pulsing instinct that made him grind his teeth together and his tail to swish angrily behind him. In the seat, Myers was still panting, trying to curl up into himself but unable to because of the bindings.

“Your name, demon.”

“M-My name is J-John-”

The room lit up again, Myers screaming, his tail spasming violently from between his legs, head snapping back to show the long line of his neck, veins popping so strongly that Hellboy could see his pulse. The light disappeared once more, leaving Myers laying completely limp against the chair, held up only by his restraints.

“Your name.” Bollers repeated, voice even. “And the name of your sire.”

“I _can’t,”_ Myers gasped, voice weak. “I can’t say his name. A name – h-has power.” His head rolled limply forward, staring at the humans across from his with watery eyes, but Hellboy felt his breath catch at the fierce glare that was still there despite the tears. “I’ve spent my whole life hiding from him. I won’t let him find me just because some _pissants_ like yourself can’t understand simple summoning laws.”

Bollers took his glasses off with a sigh, wiping at the lenses with a soft cloth he’d pulled from his pocket, and a part of Hellboy felt sickened – offended – that the man didn’t seemed to be bothered by the fact that he was torturing someone. It was stupid to feel that way; this was literally Bollers’ job. This was what he and Aehler had been trained for. Hell, he’d even caught a beer with Robert Aehler more than once in the past. So why did it seem so…dirty…now?

_“Please, please, cousin.”_

When the spells sputtered out, Myers could have been dead save for the way his chest rose and fell so quickly. Boller motioned to Aehler. “Get the holy water.”

Meyer’s eyes snapped open, a look of object horror on his face. “Please, I’m telling you the truth. I’m not a spy!” The big man lumbered over to a nearby cabinet, opening it and pulling out a crystal container. Aehler’s scarred and pocketed face pulled into a smile, shaking the vile so the contents made a loud sloshing sound inside. “S-Stop, I can’t tell you what I don’t know!”

_“Let me go.”_

Hellboy’s hands fisted tightly by his side, his tail flicking so wildly it bashed into the wall with a loud thud. In his tunnel, Abe was fidgeting uncomfortably, hands wringing together, and his discomfort echoed through the wall speaker. “Professor, I don’t…I don’t think this is right.”

_“They’ll hurt me.”_

Several things happened at once when Aehler lifted Myers’ tail and slowly positioned it over the mouth of the container. Bollers’ droll voice asked once more for Myers’ real name, his father’s hand shot out to the com unit, his disapproving voice barking out an order to cease – and Myers squeezed his eyes shut in utter resignation, letting out the most pathetic whimper Hellboy had ever heard. The sound snapped whatever resolve Hellboy had been hanging onto and – irrational feelings or not – the big red half-breed flew into the room, slamming the door open so roughly it embedded itself into the metal wall.

The entire room stared at him.

Hellboy narrowed his eyes, ignoring the startled glares from Bollers and Aehler. “You heard the professor, knock it off.”

Myers let out a sob of relief when Aehler dropped his tail, the appendage curling tightly around his leg as if to hide it. Going into the room was a mistake, Hellboy realized belatedly, every muscle tensed in an attempt to remain still and keep from punching – _his own agents!_ – in the face. Myers scent was so strong in the air it was like a cloud, bitter and acidic with fear and pain, and it made Hellboy want to do something incredibly stupid. Instead he strolled past the arguing forms of his father and Bollers _(“Manning gave this mission approval himself, how dare you-” “I have never, nor will I_ ever _tolerate torture, Agent Bollers.”)_ and shoved Aehler none to gently to the side.

Myers stared up at him, amber eyes dark and fearful, entire body shaking so badly it made his restraints rattle. Something slender slid around his thigh, the muscles strong but the touch was somehow still tentative, and Hellboy stared at the lavender colored tail that had wrapped tightly around his leg. Those bright eyes blinked once, tears living a slick path of grey across Myers’ cheeks.

“Thank you.”

Hellboy felt his own tail twitch, lip curling in dislike as his forced it to lie flat, only the tip of it flicking from side to side as he resisted an almost overwhelming urge to wrap it tightly around its smaller purple twin.

“What is this?” He demanded, voice low, ignoring the hawk-eyed observance of Aehler standing nearby. 

Myers’ eyes dropped, sharp teeth chewing on his bottom lips for a moment, before answering just as quietly. “Biology.”

Hellboy’s eyes sharpened, latching on to the offered explanation. He never liked feeling out of control, especially when it came to himself, and the bizarre feelings he felt around the smaller demon made his always tenuous grip on his control feel even more frayed than normal. “Because of what you said earlier?”

Myers’ cheeks flushed (or at least Hellboy thought they did, as two spots of darker grey-purple appeared high on his cheekbones) and he dropped Hellboy’s gaze. “…to an extent. It’s…it’s more complicated than just that.”

“Tell me.”

If possible, the blush on Myers face seemed to grow darker. “It’s...I mean…it’s because…”

But the rest of Myers sentence was cut off as a needled was suddenly stabbed into his neck. Hellboy tensed, head snapping to glare at Aehler as the smaller half-devil went limp, eyes rolling back into his head, his tail falling from Hellboy’s thigh. “What the hell, man? I was just about to get some damn answers.”

Aehler only pursed his lips together, and before Hellboy could question him further an aged hand landed softly on his rock hand. He glanced down at his father, only to find the professor watching the unmoving Myers with interest. “Come, my son. Abe believes he has some pertinent information on for us in the library.”

Hellboy tensed, glancing back down at the purple form. “But-”

“The sedative they gave him is quite potent, I’m afraid he won’t wake up for some hours.” Bruttenholm said softly, guiding the suddenly unwilling Hellboy from the room.

 “I take it that was one of mine.” He said with a snort, tone bitter. He was more than aware that they had long ago made a sedative in case he ever 'got out of control.' His father patted his arm consoling. Hellboy hesitated at the door, throwing one last look over his shoulder at Myers, before following the aging human out.

* * *

John awoke slowly, painfully. His entire body ached from the spiritual torture and while almost healed, the new skin on his hand was sensitive and tender. He’d been stripped and redressed in simple white scrubs, a hole cute crudely in the back for his tail to poke through.

The cell he was shoved into was devoid of any furniture, made of some strange metal that glimmered and John shrunk from, instinctively knowing that touch it wouldn’t fair well for him. The only wall that wasn’t made of the strange stuff was made of solid glass and the surface was etched with every containment and warding spell that John knew – and some that he didn’t. It didn’t seem as if he’d be able to find his way out of here easily.

The half-devil paced the small space of his room, the familiar-foreign sound of his hooves clacking on the cement floor echoing, and hands tugging at his short hair in frustration. _Why_ the hell hadn’t he just run when he’d first thought to? Why had he been so foolish as to push his luck? Now he was trapped, trapped and had been…had been _tortured._ John shuddered at the memory, his tail clutching tightly around his waist at the idea of what had almost happened if his cousin hadn’t put a stop to it…if his cousin hadn’t…

But no, John couldn’t let himself think of that. If he did he’d fall completely into despair. Was there no way that he could make them believe him? But John knew there wasn’t, not unless he’d be willing to sacrifice his own freedom and every soul in this bunker by claiming his father out loud. Would they believe them then? When Astaroth broke down the barriers to capture his errant Omega son? Or would even then they see this as the fruition of John’s plot?

The mere thought of his father was enough to make John shiver. Omegas were rare in John’s father’s race, regardless of what gender they appeared to be on the outside. That’s why they often slept with human women, the witches that sold their souls providing the numbers required to keep the armies of Hell staffed, even though those half-breeds often faced scorn all their lives for their muddled blood. As an Omega, even a half-devil, John’s worth as a breeder would be terrifyingly high.

It was why he spent so many years in desperate hiding and he’d rather die – or rot in this prison – before being used as broodmare. There was the sound of a locks creaking, a door opening, and John’s head snapped to the side, entire body tense and weary, when it opened. The sight of cousin was at once both relieving and utterly horrible. Hellboy ducked through the doorway, dragging a cart _full_ of food behind him.

John gawked out it, only to blush when he felt his stomach rumble hungrily at the reminder that he hadn’t eaten in several hours. Hellboy sniggered, pushing the cart forward as he crossed his arms. “I told them you’d probably be starving ‘bout now, though if your appetite’s anything like mine we’re gonna end up eating them out of their paychecks.”

John stepped forward carefully, glancing at the now closed door at Hellboy’s back and then the empty viewing area in front of the cell, before finally giving in and reaching for the nearest hamburger. He unwrapped it quickly, inhaling the delicious meat in barely two bites before moving onto the next one. The food pile was steadily made smaller under the force of John’s hunger, and John shot his cousin a grateful look as he shoved a pile of fries into his mouth, and what he saw made him pause.

Hellboy was watching him eat with a small, pleased smile, his tail curled contently against his side, and John wondered if his cousin even understood what it was about watching John sate his hunger on the food the Alpha had brought that contented him so.

_“What is this?”_

Probably not, John thought with a sigh, digging into a McFlurry next. There was a fair chance that his cousin had never even had the basics of their biology explained to him if he’d been raised amongst humans. Hellboy probably had no idea that Alphas were biologically driven to provide for unmated Omegas, especially ones related to them. Then again, John thought wearily as he felt his nose flair to take in the strong, almost heady scent of Hellboy, they were clearly not related close enough to keep their bodies from reacting to each other.

“So…” Hellboy said around the cigar in his mouth, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched John work his spoon into every nook and cranny in the plastic cup, trying to dig out the Oreo bites first, “turns out Abe’s read something about your ma before in some grimoire or another.”

John froze mid-bite, looking up at the bigger half-devil in hope. “So does that mean you believe me?”

The Alpha snorted. “I believe that your half-breed alright, everything else? No, not really.”

John couldn’t help it, he drooped. “Oh. So…more torture then.”

“That wasn’t-”

“Don’t you dare try and call it something else!” John snapped, hand flying to protect the tip of his tail without thought. Hellboy’s face soured and he kicked off the door to stand up to his full height. John scrambled back in fear until he slammed into the wall, only to yelp and leap away from it, hands pressed against his stinging shoulders.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do that.” Hellboy said flatly, letting the cigar drop from his mouth and crushing it with his boot. “The walls are blessed. Bet that sucked.” John nodded mutely, eyes wide as he stared at the tall form that loomed over him. “What I was gonna say, dipshit – and don’t interrupt me again, by-the-way – was that isn’t going to happen again. The Professor’s got some pull around here, you’ll meet him later, and if he says no, then its _no.”_

“I don’t believe you.” John said softly, letting his eyes drop to stare at the boots, and wondered absently why the half-devil wore them. They couldn’t be comfortable on his hooves.

“Tch. Not my problem if you do.” A bright red hand – the color popping all the more against the blue tones of his skin – was suddenly grasping his injured one. The touch was surprisingly gentle, carefully twisting his wrist around to stare at the newly grown skin. “…looks like you’re healing.”

“Yes.” John agreed quietly, brows furrowed as a large thumb pressed over his pulse point. The Omega bit his lip, pulling his hand free as he felt a telling tightening in his stomach. “I’m not lying.”

“So you keep saying, kid, but you gotta admit-”

“I’m not lying!” John repeated, voice high pitched and sharp. The hand that had just been so gentle shot out, grabbing his chin roughly and forcefully yanking it up so John’s eyes met the annoyed pair of his cousin’s.

“What the fuck did I just say about interrupting?” Hellboy asked, voice low and echoed by a growl that made John shrink and his tail quiver. His eyes slipped closed, head falling to side to show the length of his neck. It was an instinctual move, one made solely in apology and appeasement; an acknowledgement of his mistake and of the superior strength of the bigger devil in front of him.

John heard Hellboy’s breath catch, the fingers on his chin tightening until he was forced to tilt his head even further back and expose even more of his neck. His heart thudded in his chest, lips parted as he his breathing increased. He was both afraid and undeniably excited, feeling his lowers twist tightly. John had never been around another of his kind, much less a male, and he couldn’t deny the way his heart skipped when the fingers on his chin slid down to the vulnerable skin of his throat. Hellboy swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room.

“What is this?” The Alpha asked, voice gravelly, “what are you doing to me?”

“I’m not doing anything, cousin.” John said quietly.

“Cousin.” Hellboy barked out a short laugh, the hold on his neck tightened into more of a grip. “This doesn’t feel very family-like to me.”

John’s tail, which had been curled between his legs in fear swept out, catching Hellboy’s by chance, and curled tightly around the thicker appendage. The Alpha let out a strangled sound, his grip tightened even further and John gasped, the edges of his vision going fuzzy. He was yanked forward harshly, Hellboy’s nose digging into his curls as he inhaled deeply. This close his cousin’s scent was overwhelming; a deep and wild thing, that spoke of virility and good-breeding, and John felt his pussy throb with it, cock growing plump, and the Omega couldn’t help the way his hooves slid apart, opening his hips further up to his cousin.

“Fucking _incubus.”_ Hellboy snarled, wrenching John abruptly from him and sending him careening into the blessed walls. John cried out, falling to his knees as he shrunk away from the sharp sting, his healing hand having taken the brunt of the attack as he’d reached out to catch himself with it. He curled up on his side, his throbbing hand pressed against his chest.

He saw Hellboy’s booted feet make an aborted step forward and curled even tighter on himself, eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

“Myers-”

Whatever his cousin was going to say was interrupted by a loud, shrieking siren and John pushed himself up with his good arm, watching wearily as the Alpha stared at him for a long moment before spinning on his heel and storming towards the doorway.

“Wait!” John cried out, unsure of why he was even bothering even as the word left him. Hellboy stilled, one hand on the door, and the Omega hesitated before pushing on. He couldn’t understand the need to warn his cousin, especially after what had just happened, but the need was there, undeniable. “Sammael, he’s a King of his kind. You can’t just kill him. There's more to it then that.”

He had more to say, but Hellboy’s dismissive snort silenced him. “Yeah, right, kid. I’ve got this. Besides, for all I know you’re working with the son-of-a-bitch.”

John flinched as if physically struck, staring at his hooves through frustrated tears. He felt humiliated, beyond embarrassed. He understood that Hellboy didn’t understand what was happening, but it wasn’t like John had a lot of experience with this either. And he hadn’t even _done_ anything. He felt rejected, somehow, even though John had never meant to display to the Alpha in the first place.

“You’re wrong.” He said quietly, hands fisting angrily.

“Whatever.”

And then he was gone.

John let out a choked sob, lying back down and holding his head with both his hands. His tail wrapped tightly around his arm, as if to offer comfort despite the fact that it was his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stopping here for now. Hope you guys enjoyed. I should have the next chapter up within a day or so if there is interest.


	2. The Red King, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was kind of cute.
> 
> Hellboy glanced away at the thought, snorting at his own stupidity. There was nothing cute about Myers, just as there was nothing cute about Hellboy. They were devils, they weren’t designed to be cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed.
> 
> I love you guys! Thanks for the comments, kudos, and views! Sorry, it took me so long to get this chapter out. Work was nuts this week.

It was cold in the cells. Even for someone like himself, Hellboy still noticed the cold. The heating in this part of the bunker had always been sketchy at best and as he made his way towards Myers’ cell, Hellboy could see his breath forming with each exhale. It wasn’t terribly uncomfortable to him, as the half-devil had never really noticed the temperature unless they were extremes in one direction or another. It seemed the same for Myers, because when Hellboy approached his cell, the smaller half-breed was asleep.

For a moment Hellboy simply stood in front of the glass observation window, arms crossed and face schooled in a frown, tail swinging in a slow, unhappy trail behind him. It was more than just how shitty the attempted retrieval mission had gone (which major emphasis on _attempted)_ or the reaming that Manning had given them when he and Abe had returned home with their team empty handed. It wasn’t even the sting from the cut on his arm. No, the source of Hellboy’s annoyance was sleeping seemingly peacefully just a handful of feet away.

Myers was slightly on his side, one hoof tucked under the other, with one arm forming an impromptu pillow while the other lay across his side, tangled with his tail. The florescent lights brought out the grey in his skin, making the purple seem dull and lifeless. His breath curled in white puffs around his face, his lips slightly parted so that just the tips of sharp teeth could be seen.

“I admit I am impressed by his ability to sleep,” a voice said suddenly from his left, and Hellboy’s head jerked over to stare at where Abe had silently joined him, a pile of books in his arms. Agent Clay – HB’s long-time handler – stood nearby, arms equally full.

“Man, I gotta tell you. Don’t think I could just conk out like that.” Clay observed with a wry grin. “Not after that welcome party.”

“I must confess I don’t believe I would be able to sleep so soundly if I was being held against my will so, either.” Abe agreed, voice soft.

“Ain’t that kind of what happened to you, Abe?”

The aquatic man’s black eyes turned to peer at him. “No. What happened to me before that was.”

Hellboy shrugged, reaching up to scratch at his scruff in embarrassment. It wasn’t like he ever really forgot Abe’s bizarre history, it was just that he wasn’t exactly renowned for his tact. Hellboy couldn’t even imagine spending so many years locked up in a tube, especially for someone as smart as Abe, who needed near constant mental stimulation. That the smaller being hadn’t lost his mind was a true testament to Abe’s character really.

“However, I don’t find John and my own experiences that different at the moment.” Abe said after a moment, shifting his pile of books.

 “They’re completely different.”

 “I suppose it would do no good to point out that despite the director’s best efforts, they’ve yet to uncover any nefarious plots.” Abe remarked quietly.

“Listen, man, no one just waltzes into this place without any idea what it is.” Hellboy pointed out, crossing his arms.

“That is almost exactly how all of our human agents are recruited, Red,” Abe pointed out with a small smile. “And John was signed on under the belief – no matter how misguided – that he was a human.”

“So, what? You’re saying that we should just buy it? Believe him and let him run around taking notes?”

“What I am saying,” Abe corrected, voice calm yet shrewd, “is that perhaps it is best to withhold our judgement until we have all the facts. You, yourself, have never enjoyed the presumptions made by others because of your appearance.”

“This is different.” Hellboy insisted, brows furrowed and confused at how his friend could be so naïve about the whole thing. Abe was unbelievably smart, but he was very stupid in his own way, always thinking the best of everyone and everything.

Abe simply hummed instead of answering, turning his eyes back towards the prone form. There was a push of pressure in his arms, Abe’s books suddenly his hands. “I’m starting to dry out, I need a quick dip. Make sure John gets these will you? He must be terribly bored.”

“Abe,” Hellboy started, irritated, but the blue man was already walking away from the observation window, ignoring the various ghouls and devils that inhabited the other cells as they lashed out at him by throwing themselves stupidly against the glass, the dumb animals. But Abe only threw him a wave over his shoulder, calling out that to be sure to pass on his suggestion to start with Treasure Island first, one of his favorites. Next to him, Clay snorted. “Not a word, baldly.”

“Hey!” The human said, affronted, a hand coming up to gently pat at the hair plugs he’d recently had implanted. “I’m not bald. Anymore.” Clay leaned against the glass, the blessed etching not reacting to his presence, eyes on Myers. “You gotta admit, he’s kind of...cute.”

As they watched Myers grumbled in his sleep, shifting. His tail twitched and flickered in response to whatever he was dreaming.

It was kind of cute.

Hellboy glanced away at the thought, snorting at his own stupidity. There was nothing cute about Myers, just as there was nothing cute about Hellboy. They were devils, they weren’t designed to be _cute._

“He really gets under your skin, doesn’t he?” Clay observed, his eyes sliding from Myers to Hellboy. “I haven’t really seen anyone get you this worked up except for Liz. Or Manning. Is it the whole cousin thing?”

The problem with Clay was that he’d been around for nearly ten years. That was longer than _anyone_ other than Abe or his dad had stuck around, and Hellboy knew that the smaller man had long ago learned how to spot his bullshit. Instead of answering Hellboy shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigar to chew on. As far as he was concerned he knew enough about whatever prick it was that his mother had sold her soul to. He was a demon. He fucked a witch. Sometime afterwards, Hellboy was born. What more to the story was there? His mother had been evil, his father an even greater one. As far as he was concerned, that was pretty much all you needed to know.

But he couldn’t lie and say that Myers’ claim that they were related by blood hadn’t appealed to him. Hell, it had almost lead to him letting the little brat go that first night. But then…afterwards…well, Hellboy was pretty fucking sure you weren’t supposed to react to your cousin in the way he did to Myers in his cell.

It had to be some sort of mojojo, some sort of spell or something that Myers was doing to try and get Hellboy on his side. Why else would he…would he even think about…much less with a cousin, a _male_ cousin at that. Not that Hellboy had anything wrong with those who walked more of a curved path, but he’d always been straight. Liz was proof enough of that. The thought of the raven haired fire-starter made his heart throb painfully like always and Hellboy pushed thought of her away quickly, though he could already feel the sourer edge coloring his thoughts as they always did when he thought of her and the fact that he’d lost her.

Hellboy hesitated in front of the glass, staring at the armful of books before glancing back into the cell. So, yeah. He may have come down here to check that Myers, but he hadn’t exactly planned on talking to him. Hellboy could still remember the unearthly pull that had been in that room before, when Myers’ scent had seemed burned into his skin, the smaller half-devil’s warmth a fire against his body, and everything in Hellboy seemed lost in madness.

…but the cell _was_ pretty empty, and chances were Myers would be a long-term inhabitant. There was no way Manning (or Hellboy) for that matter was going to be willing to let him walk out of here knowing whatever it was he’d been able to gleam in the few hours he was free and walking around headquarters unchecked. And the cells were mainly used for lower level demons and creatures, not anyone with any real sentience by any means.

And Abe would be pissed if Hellboy didn’t deliver the books…

Clay solved his dilemma without even knowing Hellboy was in one, stacking the books in a pile next to the door. Hellboy added his own to the pile, glancing up just in time to catch Myers as he shifted again; his tail coiled tighter around his forearm, the muscles of the willowy, sleek thing – so different from the thick, somewhat rigid shape of his own – rolling underneath his skin like a wave. Then Myers’ whole body followed it, curling tightly around the tail in a hug-like move, the smaller half-devil nuzzling into his arm.  

“Like I said, cute.” Clay said with a shake of his head. “Like one of your kittens or something.”

“Ain’t nothing cute about it,” Hellboy replied gruffly, rolling his shoulders.

The agent sent him a grin. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s cute. You’re not so bad yourself, big guy. In fact I find you downright cuddly.”

“Shut up, Clay.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Sammael isn’t going to catch himself. Let’s go make New York’s sewers safer.”

* * *

John’s cell lost its appeal – if it had any – within the first hour. It was only a small, concrete block, one that John couldn’t even lean against, and he was _bored._ He sat with his legs crossed, leaning heavily on his hand as he stared out at the viewing window. He was so, so bored. Was this to be his future? To be kept like an animal in some sort of third rate zoo? As he was lost in his self-pitying thoughts, getting more and more worked up, the door next to the glass swung open. John jumped, eyes widening and flying to his feet in alarm. An elderly human stood in the doorway, watching him with interested eyes.

“Well, well, Agent Myers. It seems you had even more secrets than I knew.”

“Dr. Bruttenholm.” John greeted. “I promise whatever you’ve been told of me is far worse than the truth.”

“The truth being that you are not human, but in fact a decades old half-devil born from the womb of a woman who sold her soul and a prince of Hell?” The old man’s eyes flashed with amusement. “And that you walked, willingly, into perhaps the only competent and well-funded paranormal research and police facility on the planet?”

“Well…” John cleared his throat awkwardly, “no, that’s pretty accurate.” The Omega brought a hand up to rub at the nape of his neck, embarrassed. “To be far, I had no idea that this place existed or you can bet that I would never have been in the same state, much less agreed to work here.”

Dr. Bruttenholm leaned on his cane, head cocked to the side. “Do you really suppose that my superiors will believe that?”

“No. But I hoped you would.”

There was a heartbeat of silence before the professor replied. “I hold less power here than I used to, even less than what Hellboy believes I have. But if I can help you, I will.”

“You believe me?” John asked, hopeful despite all common sense.

“Not necessarily,” the human admitted truthfully, “though I wish to.”

“What must I do?” The Omega asked, taking a hesitant step forward. “Tell me, and I’ll do it. I don’t…I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in this cell.”

“Tell me what you know.” Dr. Bruttenholm said quietly.

“About what?”

“About everything. Sammael, the resurgence of activity we’ve been seeing. Hellboy, your life before coming here.” There was a flash of something – something that spoke of the kind of person the professor must have been in his youth – across Bruttenholm’s face. “Tell me everything that you can.”

“I can try,” John said slowly, shifting his weight nervously between his hooves, “but some of it…some of it I can’t say out loud. Or even write down. You…you understand don’t you?”

And to John’s great relief, the old human nodded.

They spoke for what felt like hours, until John’s voice was hoarse and his throat dry, until the half-devil had sat back down and Bruttenholm was leaning against the wall. He told him what he knew of his own birth, of his childhood in Nebraska, of his mother and her death – of the horror that was Baba Yaga, the old Crone more terrifying in the flesh than she could ever be in legend. He spoke what he could about his father, and Hellboy’s (and here the professor had grown very pale and leaned even heavier on his walking stick, and John wondered what – if anything – the man had suspected about Hellboy’s sire, or his destined fate as a destroyer), though he could not bring himself to voice his father’s plans for him out loud. It was as if to do so would somehow give them weight, make them a reality, and John was scared enough of that fate.

When he finished, John was almost panting and his tongue felt too large in his mouth. Dr. Bruttenholm had watched him silently through the end of it and now he only sighed, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead.

“I see.”

John almost felt like crying at the simple answer. He wanted to ask if the man believed him, if John would be let go – or at the very least let out of the horrible cage – but the professor said nothing else for a long moment and the Omega found he could sit on his anxiety no longer.

“Do you…believe me?”

Dr. Bruttenholm looked up from where he had been staring at the floor, obviously lost in thought, before giving him a weak smile. “Forgive me, I was quite lost in thought. The trouble with a life lead in academia, I’m afraid. But to answer your question, yes. I do. Though I do not know what good that will do you. I can, however, arrange for a better cell. Now, a cell is still a cell; you will still be locked up. However, it can provide you with a hot shower and the use of the facilities when you need to.”

“Professor,” John breathed in relief, “that’s more than enough.”

The room he was brought to (accompanied by an amount of guards that John thought was practically _absurd)_ had clearly been inhabited before. It was still a cell, though it had plaster that hid what was undoubted blessed walls and they were covered with band posters and pictures, and it was rather small.

There was a large bed shoved into one corner that took up much of the space, but there was also a small love seat and a television, as well as a bookcase filled with an unorderly stacks of comic books. There was still a viewing window that let those in the hallway see in, but there was also a smaller one on of the opposite side, framed with curtains and filled with water. There was a door that lead to an efficiency bathroom and a wardrobe was shoved between it and the corner. Everything was small and cramped, but compared to where John had just come from, this place was practically the Ritz.

The purple Omega made his way over to the bookcase, shaking his head with a grin as he picked up a comic _(Hellboy #32,_ naturally, they were all _Hellboy_ comics) and flipped through it. “Interesting reading.”

“This was Hellboy’s room when he was younger, before he hit his growth spurt. He’s always had a bit of a vain streak.” The professor said, voice distant, and John glanced over at him at the sound of it. Bruttenholm was holding a small stuffed animal – some kind of squirrel/dog thing – brow’s furrowed. There was a heavy silence before the professor gently set the stuffed toy back down on its perch. “I don’t believe in fate.”

John knew at once what he was speaking of and he voiced his agreement, voice quiet. “Neither do I.”

* * *

The return to the bunker was done in complete silence. By his side Abe was still as stone, his grief so potent that Hellboy felt like he could reach out and grasp it. He was no better. The death of so many agents – of _Clay_ – bit at him. The mission had been a complete failure. Even though Hellboy had managed to destroy most of the eggs and kill one of the Sammael’s he’d encountered, four agents had still died.

It was a clusterfuck of epic proportions and Hellboy was not looking forward to telling his father. Or Manning. At least they’d managed to kill one of the Nazi bastards and the broken and deformed body felt overly heavy in his arms. The elevator finished its decent, but it wasn’t his father or the director that met them when the doors slid open. Instead it was one of his father’s aids, looking totally frantic.

“Hellboy!” The aid (Frankie? Franklyn? Who the fuck knew) cried out. “Come quickly, Dr. Bruttenholm needs your assistance!”

“What?” He barked out, ignoring the way the sharp sound made the human scatter back from him in fear, the body falling from his arms with a loud thud. He dropped the body in favor of grabbing the aid by the shoulders, shaking him roughly. What if his dad had a heart attack while they were gone? Or worse? He was getting so old…anything could have happened. “What is it? What’s wrong? Is Dad okay?”

“Uh…”

“Fucking answer me!”

“It’s the subject,” the man stuttered, “Sub-Subject A-23.”

_“Who?”_

“John,” Abe interjected, “he’s speaking about Agent Myers.”

“What the _fuck_ has that fucker done?” Hellboy snarled, tail jerking erect behind him. “I fucking _knew_ it, I’ll rip his goddamn hands off.”

“N-No.” The aid managed weakly, hanging a foot off the ground in the angry half-devil’s grip. “No, it’s not that.”

“Red, put that poor man down.”

Hellboy let him drop, eyes narrowed and the aid swallowed nervously and took several steps away. “A-23 was taken against the doctor’s orders, by Agent Bullers and Aehler. It was under the guidance of the director, but Dr. Bruttenholm was very upset. When he heard you were arriving he sent me to get-”

“Where?”

“Pardon?”

 _“Where?”_ Hellboy asked again, his patience at its boiling point. He was done with today. Today could just go to hell and fuck itself. He was moving before the man even sputtered out the answer, tail whipping angrily about him as he stormed down the hallways, Abe a silent shadow. He found his father just outside the medical room, arguing angrily on the phone.

“- it isn’t ethical. Well, I care!” The professor snapped, a hand up and pinching his nose in frustration. This couldn’t be good. Hellboy hadn’t seen his dad this worked up in a long, long time. “If we don’t have a standard of operations – a moral code – then how are we any better than…I understand that, Director, but I refuse to agree to it!” He caught sight of them, snapping his fingers at the half-devil. “Hellboy, there you are. Knock that door down.”

“What…really?”

“Yes.”

Hellboy grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Sure thing, pops. Anything for you.”

The metal crumpled under the impact of his foot, flying inwards. And what he saw…Hellboy froze, mouth parted in surprise, eyes wide. Myers was strapped to a table, an IV of muddly, whiteish-water strapped to his arm. The blessed concoction had turned the small half-devil’s skin a pallid grey, his eyes small slivers behind puffed red rims, and there was large welts around where the needle was pressed inside. That level of an allergic reaction could only mean something really nasty, like oak-infused water.

But that wasn’t what had caught him so off guard.

Myers’ was naked, legs forced up and bent, his feet strapped to long stirrups, his privates exposed. Bullers was standing between the spread legs, gloved hands slowly pulling a cylindrical stainless steel sounder from _inside_ him. It never once entered Hellboy’s mind that this was anything else but torture – _sexual_ torture – and the idea of it, the sight of that pole being pulled so carefully from inside the small form, made something inside him erupt with rage.

He let out a vicious snarl, ignoring Abe’s shocked words as he swept inside. Bullers danced away with the sounder, barely missing a swipe from Hellboy’s arm.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He demanded, reaching out to yank the needed not-so-gently from Myers’ arm. He yanked his duster off, tossing it over the nude body. “How the hell can you think this is okay? To analy rape a guy? We’re suppose to be the good guys!”

“Hellboy.” And just like that, the rage inside him quieted, driven back by the even sound of his father’s voice. “Take John back to your room, please.”

“Gladly.” Hellboy agreed, lifting the unmoving and barely conscious Myers into his arms. He bared his teeth at Aehler, but the big human only held his hands up in defeat. Hellboy stepped into the hallway, mind already working the best way to get Myers back to the safety of his room. Sure, Hellboy may not have trusted the kid – okay, he didn’t trust the kid – but that didn’t mean that this sort of shit was okay. And he’d given his word.

So had his father.

And Hellboy didn’t tolerate anyone making his dad a liar.

“Don’t do that.” A voice barked out sharply and Hellboy’s head snapped to the side to see Manning storming down the hallway, face furious. “Ignore that order. Put him back inside, Hellboy.”

“Hate to break it to you pal, but I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Uh, yeah.” Manning snapped. “Yes you do.” The human came to a stop in front of the gathered group. “Who do you think signs off on all those expenses of yours? How much do you think it costs to keep you?”

Keep him. Like he was some kind of fucking animal. Hellboy’s lips twisted in an unkind smile, leaning down until he was practically hovering over the man. “Don’t try me, bud.” Manning’s nostrils flared and Hellboy felt his eyes narrow dangerously. “You got something to say?”

“I don’t think you want to hear what I have to say.”

“Oh, I want to hear it.”

“I think the four body bags in the car would disagree.”

Hellboy’s mouth snapped shut, wincing at the reminder. How could he have forgotten? Even with all this happening, how could he have forgotten about Clay? In his arms, Myers let out a wounded whine, the sound making Hellboy’s hair stand on edge. This was bad, he could feel himself at his absolute limit.

“You know what?”

“Hellboy,” his father started.

“Fuck you.”

The professor sighed heavily. “Hellboy,” he admonished, voice tired, and the big half-devil instantly deflated. “…take John to your room. I think you can agree, Director, that Agent Myers will be unable to escape from there, especially under Hellboy’s personal guard.”

Manning said nothing, but Hellboy nodded stiffly, turning on his heel and stomping away. As he turned the corner, he just managed to hear Abe’s quiet voice.

“That could have gone better.”

No shit.

* * *

The tension in Hellboy’s shoulders didn’t go away until he was locked in his room. Weirdly, bringing Myers here was somehow soothing, easing the hard ball of anger that rested heavily in his stomach. He paused in the middle of his room, his cats wisely keeping their distance before moving towards his bed. He gently laid the injured half-devil down, the duster slipping free, and he didn't know if the purple flush he saw on Myers' cheeks was a good or bad thing, but anything had to be better than that awful grey.

Hellboy straightened and felt his mouth go strangely dry, his breath catching at the alluring sight of Myers stretched out, naked, on his covers. Hellboy’s eyes wandered down, across the tight and unflawed skin of Myer’s chest, and lower still, to where silver curls gathered in tight ringlets around a flaccid cock, just as purple as the rest of the small devil's body. Hellboy jerked away, tail quivering as he turned abruptly. He shook his head in disbelief, ignoring the questioning meow of one of his braver toms. He stumbled away, grabbing a (maybe) clean pair of boxers and a shirt from the floor before tossing them at the bed and locking himself in his bathroom.

In his _own_ bathroom.

Hellboy let out a hoarse laugh of disbelief, running a hand harshly through his hair as he stared down the insistant bulge in his pants. Clay was dead. The agency that owned him was conducting sexual torture on people.

And he’d just got a hard on.

From seeing a man naked. 

_Jesus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and up next, John wakes up from the most confusing/nightmare-ish gynecologist exam ever in Hellboy's room. Naked. And Liz comes home.


	3. The Aged Scholar, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t have to feel this way. He shouldn’t have to!
> 
> Why? Just because Myers was his species answer for women? He made an ugly looking dame, because no matter what their fucked up biology tried to tell him, Hellboy liked women. Women like Liz. Women who didn’t have extra fucking parts. Christ. He refused to feel – to feel responsible for whether or not John freaking Myers felt comfortable or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's starting to get real. O.o;

Hellboy eventually went back to his room.

Everything else aside, his pride wouldn’t let him hide in his own bathroom for too long. He was irritated, he was pissed, and he had to take a quick shower just to cool down. He’d scrubbed at his body ferociously the entire time, trying to rid himself both of Myers’ strange, clinging scent and will his erection away. Its presence was infuriating; Hellboy had never felt any type of attraction to a man before, much less another demon.

He hated the mere idea of it; what it could even vaguely imply.

Hellboy shouldn’t be attracted to a male demon (he shouldn’t be attracted to anyone who wasn’t Liz) and the half-breed had enough shit to deal without throwing in the fact that he could be fucking ga–

He pushed the thought away harshly, yanking his t-shirt on before slamming the door to the bathroom open. He felt his anger leave him all at once at the pathetic sight of the tightly curled ball of grey in the center of his bed. Christ, the kid didn’t look any better. Myers’ entire body was shaking, clawed fingers digging deep into grey locks. His tail swung wide, knocking pillows from the bed before he let out a long, high pitched whimper that had Hellboy half way across his room before he was aware of moving.

“What the fuck is this?” He grounded out, tail sweeping wildly behind him. He couldn’t understand; he didn’t even like Myers – sure as fuck didn’t trust him – and yet all Hellboy wanted was to make that those terrible noises stop. It didn’t…it didn’t make any sense, damn’t, but the feeling was there.

The whine turned abruptly into a shrieking, mournful yowl, the small figure curling even tighter in on himself, fingers yanking roughly at his curls and Hellboy was at his side, a knee on the mattress as a single hand forced those sharp claws from where Myers had dug them into his own scalp before the half-devil had even fully registered the blood-scent.

Hellboy watched in morbid fascination at the purple-tinged veins, freakishly outlined across Myers’ face and neck, pulsed. Myers’ body was trying to purify the oak, but the poison was potent against anything even remotely demonic and the process hurt like hell. Hellboy knew that from personal experience.

The small form gasped, going tense all at once before bowing up, hands straining against the unyielding rock of his hand, hooves kicking out, sharp little teeth on display as Myers snarled at nothing, eyes foggy and unseeing. Myers’ teeth bit down hard enough to split his bottom lip open, blue-black blood spilling messily from the wound. Hellboy’s free hand shot out, thumb knocking the captured lip free, eyebrows twitching as those kitten teeth clamped down on the appendage instead.

A low rumble of a growl – a pitched sound that Hellboy had never, in the entirety of his years, ever heard himself make, one that came somehow from his chest instead of his throat – tumbled out of him when canines bit deep, making his own blood pool up from around the narrow puncture. All at once the struggling ceased, the grip of Myers’ teeth going lax until Hellboy could simply pull his wounded thumb free. Hellboy stared down at the still form with wide, startled eyes. Myers was completely still beneath, chest heaving with slow, staggering breaths that looked like they hurt. His cousin’s lips were stained with their mixed blood, open and panting, and Hellboy felt his stomach twist, abrupt and hard, at the sight of the blackened skin.

On its own violation Hellboy’s thumb swiped out, the thick callouses catching ever so slightly against the torn skin, smearing the blood in a haphazard arrow form the plump lip across the hollow of Myers’ cheek. His thumb travelled further up, tracing the raised ridge of Myers’ eyebrow ridge. It was hairless, a part of Hellboy’s mind marveled, just like his own. No eyelashes either; another similarity. His skin though…Myers’ skin felt glabrous to the touch, so very unlike Hellboy’s own well-oiled leather.

Hellboy’s thumb practically glided over it in a slow, repeated stroke along his cousin’s eyebrow ridge. His skin was so soft, impossibly soft and smooth, and the bigger half-devil couldn’t quite resist the urge to let his other fingers press against Myers’ face. Did…did John feel this smooth everywhere? His eyes dropped down, trailing down a rapidly swallowing throat to a lightly toned chest, his breath catching as his focused on a single dusky nipple, perked tall and flushed with each struggling breath Myers took.

The sound of the locks on his door broke whatever trance he was under and all at once Hellboy was aware of how the long lines of Myers’ (still very naked body) was stretched out beneath him. He’d lodged a knee between the smaller half-devil’s leg at some point to keep him pinned to the bed, a slender thigh tucked beneath his much thicker ones. He jerked back, skidding away from Myers and yanking a sheet over him seconds before the door swung open.

“Hellboy, thank goodness, there you are my son.”

Hellboy turned to greet his father, arm crossed and voice a little too harsh in his embarrassment. “What, think I pulled a runner? I’m right where you told me to go old man.”

The Professor just gave him a rueful smile. “Forgive me, my son. In the heat of the moment I misspoke; when I told you to return John to your room, I had meant your childhood room. It is the one I have assigned to him.”

“What, what, what?” Hellboy sputtered, hands splayed wide on either side of him. “Come on, dad, that room’s still mine! It’s got like half my crap in it.”

His father gave him an unamused look. “Much of which you have no touched in over two decades. Do not be a child, Hellboy.”

“I’m not being a child,” Hellboy said with a snort, watching as the Professor approached the bed, tail wrapping tightly around his leg to resist the urge to pull his father away as Bruttenholm reached an age-dappled hand out to Myers’ still form. “That shit’s mine. You could at least given me some sort of warning, I could got it all out and-”

“And put it where?” His dad asked, clearly amused.

“I don’t know, somewhere, and…” Hellboy’s words trailed off as he watched the Professor stiffen, his palm pressed flat against Myers’ forehead, “what is it? What’s wrong?”

“John is running an alarmingly high fever, even for your kind.” Bruttenholm said sharply, rising from the bed and hobbling towards the mounted wall phone with more speed then Hellboy really gave him credit as still having. “His body is trying to purge the poison from his system, but at these temperatures he runs the risk of cooking his own brain.”

“Cooking his…shit.”

That didn’t sound good. Hellboy returned to his place at Myers’ bedside, staring down at him. He hadn’t felt overly hot to him earlier, but then again Hellboy never really felt heat. Like ever. So how the hell would he know? Myers let out a soft whimper, eyes blinking sluggishly and Hellboy gave into the strange push that urged him to comfort as a viscous tear spilled over and down his cheek. He reached out with his smallest hand, brushing sweat logged curls from Myers’ face.

In the background he could hear his father talking with someone, instructing them to bring as many bags of ice as quickly as they could, but Hellboy was barely registering the sounds. Because Myers’ face had chased the path of his hand, nuzzling up into it like an attention starved cat. Myers’ lips tugged slightly apart against the pull of skin, his tongue darting out to rest against his palm. Hellboy swallowed harshly, an inappropriate bolt of lust arrowing from his stomach to his cock.

A hand was suddenly against his forearm, startling the half-devil so bad he nearly jumped out of his own skin. Bruttenholm stared at him curiously, brows furrowed slightly. “Come, we must run a cold bath. Hopefully, the ice will help bring down his fever.”

Hellboy nodded quickly, reaching down and lifting Myers – sheet and all – before he could he could talk himself out of it. Myers didn’t even so much as twitch at the movement; if anything he seemed to melt against the lines of Hellboy’s chest and shoulder, head lulling slightly before settling in the crook of his neck.

His tail reached up weakly, trying to wrap around Hellboy’s arm but seeming lacking the strength to do so and fell lifelessly back down. Hellboy cracked his neck loudly, trying to ignore the way his tail instinctively flicked towards it and carried the unmoving form into the bathroom.

The sooner Myers was healed, the sooner he was the hell out of Hellboy’s room and he could go back to pretending that whatever the fuck this all was didn’t exist.

* * *

John woke three times. Well, three times that he was aware of anyway. The first time it had been to the feeling of a cold so complete that it made his very lungs seize. He remembered clawing, tooth and nail, to get away someone had held him down, commanded him to stay. The cold had crested, overwhelming in the worst ways, and then John had faded away into blessed unconsciousness.

The second time it was to large hands – large and so warm against his frigid skin – directing his limbs about. John had cried out his protest at the movement, his very bones aching in a way he’d never felt before, and when the movements had finally come to an end he’d sobbed his relief. A calloused palm had stroked his forehead, ran up and pushed his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, and the Omega let out a content sigh as he drifted off again.

The third time, consciousness came to him completely. He woke slowly; the first thing he was aware of was that he was in a soft bed, under thick and warm blankets, and something heavy was on his chest. He cracked his eyes open, wincing at the bright light that greeted him, and when he’d blinked a few times to clear his vision he found himself staring into a pair of intense blue eyes. The cat on his chest stared back just as mutely, before standing abruptly and turning, his tail flicking dismissively as he hopped off of John’s chest.

The small Omega sat up, wincing at the movement. It felt like he’d torn or strained every muscle. He let out a shaky breath, bringing a hand up to rub at his chest as he struggled to get a decent breath. His chest felt so heavy, as if his lungs were made out of lead, and John looked down, blinking in surprise to find himself in a beaten up Clash t-shirt. He pulled the thin covers back and blinked at the equally over-sized boxers he wore, the waist rolled to ensure they stayed on his hips.

John stood unsteadily, taking the room he was in with wide eyes. The first thing he noticed was that it was practically _over run_ with cats. They watched the Omega from various perches throughout the large room, their eyes unblinking and slightly neon in the low light. John’s wondered at the sheer number of them before his eyes caught sight of a sink. He damn near broke his neck as he stumbled over to in his haste, nearly tripping over a cat here and another one there, a beaten up and aged looking boot here or an overturned milk carton box there.

He drank from the tap greedily, eyes closing at how good the water felt, even if it was echoed by a strange metallic after taste. John drank until his belly felt like it was going to burst, which brought into awareness another basic need. He stumbled into a nearby door, relieved to find it a bathroom. He sighed in relief as he performed his ablutions, using a wash cloth to was his face once he’d emptied his bladder and helping himself to some toothpaste to try and chase the dead taste from his mouth.

He was feeling remarkably more alive as he made his way from the bathroom but John’s good feeling disappeared at the sight of his cousin’s broad form, staring at his bed, frame tense, hands on his hips. He was wearing a pair of faded combat utilities and a black t-shirt that showed off his honestly monstrous forearms and biceps. _Goddess,_ the Omega thought, _those are_ big. The sheer amount of strength in them had to be staggering. John cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to ignore the flare of interest that thought caused in his belly, and Hellboy’s head turned to stare at him.

“Back with the living, eh, princess?”

John flushed at the nickname, running a hand through his messy and greasy hair self-consciously. “Yes, I…uh, yeah. I guess. What happened? I remember…” John’s blush burned even hotter as he remembered the exam all too clearly. “The exam…what did they give me? It hurt so badly…”

Hellboy shifted, looking uncomfortable. “They, uh, gave you oak-infused morphine. They developed it to sedate me the few times I’ve ever needed surgery. Usually when they need to cut something outta me after I’d healed over it. It’s…not a pretty thing.”

“Oak.” John repeated, rubbing at the back of his neck. “That explains why I feel like I’ve been hit by a semi.” He joked weakly, his smile falling flat when the Alpha’s strained expression didn’t lesson.

“Look, Myers.” Hellboy sighed, shaking his head. “Guess you were right, kid. About the torture.” John blinked at him. Torture? The exam had been unpleasant, yes, and utterly against his will, but if the Omega was completely honest…well, if he’d just agreed to the exam they’d wouldn’t have used the oak on him at all. “I’m…I’m not gonna let them do that to you again,” Hellboy went on, face drawn, “we’re…we’re a lot of things and not all of them good. I mean, we do some sketchy shit sometimes, yeah, you kinda have to in this line of work. But that? I’d never thought, I won’t allow that kind of shit. Okay? Doesn’t matter how much I trust you or not, I won’t let them torture you like…like _that_ again.”

Oh. _Oh._ John felt his eyes widen understanding, feeling his cheeks impossibly burn even hotter. “Hellboy, no that’s not…” He swallowed, trying to find the right words. “They weren’t…it wasn’t some kind of sexual torture, cousin. They were…they were doing a pelvic exam. They, uh, they wanted to get a sonogram of my…” … _reproductive system…_ “…insides.”

Hellboy looked the furthest from convinced as possible. “Myers, they had a stick shoved up your ass.”

John winced. _Oh gods,_ he thought somewhat desperately, _I am so not having this conversation._ “It wasn’t shoved up my…it was a sonogram wand. You’re right, though. They didn’t have my permission to do that so avoiding it a second time would be…it would be much appreciated.”

A tense silence fell between them, and John could feel the weight of Hellboy’s eyes on him even as he stared down at his hooves.

“Look,” John said after a moment, when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, “is there any way I could borrow your shower? I smell, well, _bad.”_

There was a snort of agreement. “Well, I won’t argue with you on that.” John shot him a dirty glare he thought that deserved before perking up slightly as his cousin offered a handful of folded clothes. “Go ahead, one of the guys who searched your stuff brought you something to wear. There’s a fresh towel too. After though, the Professor would like to speak with you.”

* * *

If just washing his face and neck had perked him up, the shower made John feel like a brand new person. It was refreshing to shower somewhere that had obviously been built with his kind in mind. The shower head was tall enough that he didn’t have to worry about it tangling with his horns and the water pressure was perfect.

John took longer than he meant to, but the hot water felt perfect against his skin, and when he finally stepped from the bathroom, he knew he was probably running late. They’d brought him his FBI sweats and he pulled on the hoodie easily enough, but it took him a few moments to tear a hole for his tale in the boxers and sweat pants. Hellboy looked annoyed from where he was leaning against the counter of his kitchenette.

“Took you long enough.”

“Sorry,” John mumbled, embarrassed, “thank you though, I feel a lot better.”

Amber eyes swept over his form briskly. “You look better.”

“Thanks?” John said, eyes widening as his cousin turned abruptly from him. Was that…no, it couldn’t have been a blush. What on earth would Hellboy have to be blushing about? “Well, I’m ready when you are.”

The walk to the Professor’s office was awkward. At least six agents were waiting for them at the door and they trailed after them, and it was a hard fit to crowd all eight of them in the small lift. Despite the limited space, every agent managed to be turned towards John, weapons not so discretely on display. His tail twitched nervously before curling tightly around his thigh as he eyed the agent closest to him gun.

It didn’t look like any pistol John had ever seen. It was thick and fat and glowed a vicious green color, humming quietly in the small space. It didn’t _smell_ right either. The agent seemed to notice his nervous look, a self-satisfied smirk taking his lips as he stared John down. The Omega couldn’t help the way he took a step closer to his cousin’s hulking form, swallowing nervously and feeling – all too acutely – once more just how much trouble he was in. There was so little space though that John’s shoulder brushed against Hellboy’s forearm and his cousin’s attention snapped down to stare at him.

John tried not to shrink from the hard gaze, but to his surprise those eyes flickered from his sheepish face to the grinning agent next to him. Hellboy’s eyes narrowed, uncrossing his arms and the Omega tried to ignore the flare of pleasure that swelled in him as his cousin’s shoulders tilted, just enough to put his frame ever so slightly in front of John.

“Something funny, O’Ryan?”

“What?” The agent said, head jerking back when he found himself the center of the Alpha’s glare. “What, no.”

“Then stop smiling. Your face is ugly enough without exposing us to that shit.”

John ducked his head, trying and failing to keep the pleased smile from his face as the agent – _O’Ryan_ – studiously studied his feet for the continuation of their ride.

The Professor’s office was the same library that John had been first been taken to when he’d first arrived at the BPRD and Professor Bruttenholm gave him a genial smile when he arrived. “Ah, John. It’s good to see you looking so well, my boy. You gave us all quite a fright when you were working the oak from your system. I do apologize for that; quite unpleasant stuff I know.”

“It’s alright,” John mumbled, overly aware of all the people in the room. As if sensing his displeasure, Professor Bruttenholm made a waving motion with his hand.

“Thank you for bringing him here, boys. You can wait outside. You too, Hellboy.”

The agents and Hellboy erupted into objections at the same time.

“Sir, that’s not a good idea-”

“What, dad, you gotta be shitting-”

“Out, please. I’d like to talk to John alone.” The Professor’s smile was polite, yet held an edge that could have cut glass. “Go on. I’m barely a holler away if should I need you.”

To John’s amazement they left the room – abet reluctantly – and John had no doubts they were standing just on the other side of the thick door, just waiting for an excuse to barge back in. Bruttenholm let out a sigh as he gestured to a waiting coffee pot and two cups. “Thank goodness, I was starting to wonder if I held any sway here anymore.” He teased with a wink. “Now, do you take any sugar or cream with your coffee?”

“Just cream, please.” John said slowly, following the Professor over and sitting nervously on the edge of the seat. “Sir, with all do respect. I don’t think you just called me up here to have coffee and a friendly chat.”

“No,” the Professor agreed, “I’m afraid not.” He laid a manila envelope on the table between them. “Do you know what these are? They’re the results of your exam. To be more specific, it’s the results of a transvaginal ultrasound.” John jaw twitched, staring at the folder, hands bunched so tightly his claws dug in and through the fabric of his sweats. “I believe you can guess what it found.”

The Omega looked away, staring at the vast – and thankfully – empty expanse of Abe’s tank. He let a breath out nosily from his nose. “Yeah, I can guess.”

“So. You are a she-devil.”

“We don’t,” John started before letting out a sound of frustration, “we don’t use gender terms like that. Even if I tried to translate the proper pronouns, it wouldn’t sound much more than gibberish in English.”

The Professor nodded slowly. “So you prefer male pronouns.”

“I do.” John let out another sigh. “Look, how much about demon biology do you understand? I mean, Hellboy doesn’t seem to have a clue about it.”

“I’m afraid we haven’t had much of a chance to study your species,” Bruttenholm explained, “the devils we’ve managed to take alive or examine posthumously have all been animalistic in appearance. Or unlike anything on earth at all.”

John nodded. He’d figured as much. “Despite what the other seem to think around here, I am a hybrid. My mother was a human, my father a demon of Hell. He…I can’t speak much on him. I hope you understand. But, yes, in loose terms I am a…‘she-devil.’ Our kind isn’t bound to physical appearance when it comes to sex. We’re binary, just like humans, but what we look like on the outside doesn’t have much bearing on our actual sex.”

John swallowed and took a moment to drink heavily from his coffee cup. Bruttenholm gave him a knowing look, leaning forward to rest his chin on his cane handle. “I imagine this must be a delicate subject for you.”

“All of this is,” the Omega said bitterly. “I haven’t been in my true form in decades. I’ve been hiding as human male for most of my life. To be seen so easily, to have to explain how my sexuality works is…awkward to say the least.” He took a steadying breath. “The males of our kind are called Alphas. There are Alphas that may look…how you would call ‘traditionally male,’ like Hellboy, and some that may look female to you that are actual male. Omegas – the females of our kind – can look female or, like myself, have physical characteristics of a male – a penis and testes, though they’re vestigial. They also have a fully developed female reproductive system.”

“Fascinating.” And it was clear that to Professor Bruttenholm it was. John wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. “So you bear live young. A baby?”

“A pup, but yes, we do,” John said slowly, eyes narrowing, “though I’ve never had a child myself. I have no interest in breeding, Professor, not if it means my children would just be some sort of science experiment.”

The Omega fought back the snarl that wanted to escape at that idea. He’d carve out his ovaries before he allowed any children he bore to be born in this place. To his credit, Professor Bruttenholm seemed horrified by the very notion.

“No, no! John, my boy, I promise nothing like that would happen. I would never allow that.” The Professor said quickly, and there was something with strength to it, something with steel that allowed John to relax into his seat. “I apologize whole heartedly if I’ve somehow given you that impression.”

A heavy silence fell between them, one that the pair just staring at each other, each unsure how to move on from that miscommunication. After a moment Bruttenholm moved to refresh his coffee. “Look, John, I’m trying my best to get you some measure of freedom within the bunker. But I cannot promise much, nor can I promise I can provide what little I can any time soon. I beg of you to be patient.”

John gave him a sharp smile, one which showed far too many of his teeth to be considered polite. “Not like I have much of a choice, do I?”

* * *

From where he was pressed up against the door, Hellboy took an unsteady step back, staring wide eye at the wood grains. Next to him, one of the agents shifted. “You alright, HB? You look a little green there.”

Hellboy didn’t answer him. His tail swung frantically behind him, his mind trying to translate what he heard into something that made sense. But even as he railed at the very thought, the overheard conversation played on repeat in his mind.

_‘So. You are a she-devil.’_

 It didn’t make _any fucking sense._

_‘Omegas – like myself.’_

Because John Myers was a man. Hellboy had even seen his cock _(small and uncut, soft lavender skin that turned a deeper amethyst where a delicate looking head just peaked out of its hood) –_ the half devil shook his head abruptly, as if to shake the image away.

_‘A baby?’_

Myers was male! He couldn’t be…he couldn’t be a female. Could he?

_‘A pup.’_

The door opened and Hellboy started, staring wide-eyed at the pair of his father and Myers. Myers’ eyebrow ridges raised, as did his father’s eyebrows. His father frowned. “Are you quite alright, son?”

“Uh,” Hellboy replied eloquently, “yeah. He going back to my room?”

“Your old room, yes.”

“My room.”

“Hellboy.” The Professor said with a sigh and the half-devil only felt slightly guilty as his father rubbed at his forehead.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Myers. I got shit to do.” Hellboy said gruffly, turning on his heel and starting down the hallway. There was a half-shouted _‘hey!’_ and the sound of hooves tapping on concrete as Myers frantically tried to follow him, the thuds of feet moving just as quickly as the agents followed.

Jesus, this just took the cake. As if Hellboy wasn’t a freak enough, the female counterparts of his species didn’t have to even look like women! God, what the hell. The elevator ride was one of strained silence, Hellboy fuming while the other occupants of the room tried to give him as much space as possible. Myers stood uncomfortably in the middle, a small bubble around him keeping him separated from both the agents and Hellboy. Myers had hunched in on himself, one arm wrapped tightly around himself, gripping the opposite one tightly, head bowed as he stared at his hooves. His tail was wrapped just as tightly around waist and Hellboy felt his irritation ratchet up a notch at the unwanted, sweltering urge he had to move into the smaller half-devil’s space, to try and ease some of his obvious nervousness.

It was stupid.

He didn’t have to feel this way. He shouldn’t have to!

Why? Just because Myers was his species answer for women? He made for an ugly looking dame, because no matter what their fucked up biology tried to tell him, Hellboy liked _women._ Women like Liz. Women who didn’t have extra fucking parts. Christ. He refused to feel – to feel responsible for whether or not John freaking Myers felt comfortable or not.

He was a spy, one who snuck into Hellboy’s home. He was a threat and Hellboy refused to be ruled by some stupid impulse that probably had nothing to do with him and everything to do with his least favorite part of his heritage.

Yeah.

Fuck this shit.

He got to his old room faster than Hellboy probably ever had in his life. He unlocked the giant door, swinging it open. He turned, a hand shooting out to grip Myers’ arm and shoving him inside. He ignored the wide-eyed look of surprised hurt the half-devil sent him as he stumbled in. He ignored the spear of the instinctive push to shoot forward and right Myers’ state of unbalance as his smaller cousin fell hard on one knee, the sound of concrete hitting bone echoing in the small space.

“Someone will be by with food soon.” Hellboy said coldly, pointing a finger at the pathetic looking figure. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

He slammed the door shut, rock hand spinning the locks in place with ease. The agents behind him were staring at him with various looks of unease and the snarl he sent them probably didn't help any. “The fuck you looking at?”

He stormed off, intent on only one thing.

He needed to see Liz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John. Poor Hellboy. Someone really needs to help get over his issues. Gotta have a little pain and discomfort though, don't we?


	4. The Aged Scholar, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jesus,” Hellboy rasped, “you do, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all.
> 
> I live.
> 
> Un-betaed.

The day was passing by at a crawl. By the time the guard arrived with dinner for him around six, John was so bored he thought he was about to crawl out of his skin. He’d read all of Hellboy’s comic collection by that point and had begun slowly making his way through A Tale of Two Cities, a rather surprising find when they’d brought the food. When Professor Bruttenholm had come to collect him around eight requesting his assistance, John all but leapt at the chance. Besides the fact that the Professor had been the only one to really show him any kindness in this whole clusterfuck, John was eager to prove his innocence through usefulness. And it got him out of that damn room, which was another plus. He was quite sure what he was expecting, but the strange clockwork half-man lying in the BRPD’s morgue. John’s head cocked to the side in interest immediately, only half listening as the Professor explained that Hellboy had brought the creature in earlier after his disastrous hunt.

“He’s quite fascinating, isn’t he?” Bruttenholm said, something akin to amusement underlying his words as he watched John pull on a pair of bright blue medical gloves on and move to hover over the body.

John ran his hand over the silver and brass holding the man together, ridged brows furrowed. “He’s made himself into an automaton.” The Omega had never seen anything like it. He tilted the head to the side, eyes narrowing as he took in the macabre sight.

“Indeed. I’ve only seen something like it once before – but that was decades ago. Another lifetime practically.” The aged human mused, sounding distant. “I never thought I’d live to see another do such a procedure to himself. I can’t even fathom how he managed to walk, much less give up as much of a fight as he did. He must have been unimaginable pain every time he moved.”

“A masochist, maybe.” John muttered. He ran his fingers over the covered face, trying to find a latch to remove it. “You haven’t started an autopsy?”

“I was rather waiting to see what you thought of him.”

“Well, he’s done a number on himself. I’d say the majority of his body has been replaced at this point by machines.” John said, shuddering slightly as he fingers ran over the stretched rubber, feeling the suggestive caress of magic; hollow, but not yet totally faded. “He even replaced his heart. Some sort of magic was used to help him along and keep it moving. I can’t tell if it was his or someone else’s.”

Something sharp and attentive came over Bruttenholm’s face. “Indeed. Black magic of some kind, I’d imagined.”

John fought the urge to snort, trying his damnest to not alienate his only alley in this shithole. It was such a _human_ thing to say. “Magic doesn’t have a color, not in the sense you mean. It’s just power and how it is used. There is no ‘black’ or ‘white’ magic – or ‘green’ for that matter, no matter what those ‘modern’ Witches might try to tell you.”  

Now the Professor definitely was amused. “I believe they prefer the term ‘Wiccans,’ my boy.”

The Omega did snort this time. “They wouldn’t know real witchcraft it leapt up and bit them. And I’ve seen what happens when those that happen to stumble upon it; they have no idea what they’re getting into. It either kills them or they go mad. No, true Witches – the true ones, like my mother and Hellboy’s – you wouldn’t be able to tell they were Witches. They didn’t advertise it with stuff they bought at Hot Topic, or by doing a drum circle. You could _feel_ it on them.

There are several different types of magic in the world, more often than not tied with whatever race the wielder is a part of. Take Troll magic, or that of the elves, its deeply rooted in the earth and their connection with it. Demonic magic is bound to their connection with Hell; where they were born, what clan they were apart of, what breed they are. That kind of thing.”

“And humans?” The Professor was clearly fascinated, leaning on his stick as he listened intently. John really doubted that this wasn’t something he already knew, but he indulged him none-the-less.

“Human’s don’t have magic naturally, they have to get through a bargain or service to another. Through a devil or Baba Yaga, like my mother, or with something…else.” The Omega’s voice faltered somewhat at the end.

“Something else?”

“Like the Old Magic.” John said quietly. He tried not to speak of the Old Magic. Or of the Ones Who Came Before, those terrible and giant races that predated everything. There were several of them; the sea dwellers, those that lived deep in the dark oceans of planets far and wide, there were those terrible creatures that dwelled deep in the black of the earth, and the Ancient Ones who slept – even now – in the black of space. He banished thoughts of them almost immediately. “I highly doubt you don't know what I’m talking about. And it doesn’t do to speak of them, or to say their names,” he admonished quietly. John let out a sound of victory as he finally managed to find something that could be a release on the mask. “I think I’ve got it. You said you’ve seen an automaton like him before?”

Bruttenholm made a quiet sound of thought. “During the second world war; a man named Karl Ruprecht Kroenen, a Nazi general who fell under the control of Grigori Rasputin, though there is no way that Kroenen could possibly still be – Good Lord!”

The moment John had moved to pull the mask free, the dead body suddenly sprung to life. Its hand shot out, its thin shape hiding a vicious strength behind it, and sent the Omega crashing into the mounted medical cabinets. The automaton leapt from the table, Bruttenholm letting out strangled cries for help as he tried to fight it off with his cane. The feeble wood snapped under that monstrous strength, and John was already launching himself over the table, a vicious snarl on his lips, when rubber hands wrapped tightly around the aged man’s frail neck.

The automaton swirled around, one hand still squeezing tightly as a blade shot from a hidden holder on his arm, and John couldn’t stop his momentum in time. The long knife pierced through his side and the Omega howled at the feel of it, the way his fleshed sizzled around it revealing that it must have been made of iron. Still, John was a beast unleashed in this form and his tail swung out, knocking the mechanical man away from the Professor even as sharp nails dug deep into the rubber suit. It shredded it as he threw the automaton away, ignoring the gush of his blood that followed the sudden removal of the knife. The moving dead man skittered away from them, howling as he sped from the room. Shouts were coming from the hallway and John ignored the shout of his name as he followed in hot pursuit. His instincts were clambering at him, made loud by the shock of it all and the scent of his own blood. He ignored the pain in his side, the steady flow of blood he felt as he sprinted after the black figure.

An explosion of pain against his injured side brought him to abrupt standstill, staring down at the sparking electrical prongs of a projectile taser end in disbelief. He keeled over, twitching as electricity jolted at stupidly high volts through his form. His vision grew blurry as he watched the automaton disappear completely.

He managed one, furious glare at the guards standing above him. “Not _me,_ you idiots.”

The last thing he heard was Professor Bruttenholm, cursing loudly in German, before he gave him into the dark fuzziness clouding his vision.

* * *

Hellboy arrived to find the BRPD in utter chaos. He hurried to his father’s study only to see a red-faced Manning leaving it. The Director shot him a nasty glare before storming away. Oh- _kay._ Hellboy’s interest was officially pricked. He entered his father’s study to find him sitting in his seat, drinking scotch. Oh yeah. Something had happened alright. Dad only brought out the hard stuff when he was particularly pissed. “Heya pops, looks like you had a hell of an evening.”

His father gave him a flat look. “And just where were you tonight?”

“Just felt like going for a walk,” he lied easily, picking up the scotch and giving it a sniff. “Seems like I missed a party.”

“A party.” Dad’s voice was utterly dry and Hellboy looked up, brows furrowed in surprise. Scratch that, his dad was _furious._ “I suppose you could say so, if you could call a half-dead man more machine than not trying to kill me a ‘party.’”

Hellboy jerked in horror at the sheer thought, eyes widening as he caught sight of the angry bruises forming on his father’s neck. _“What?_ No, that guy was dead. KO’d.”

“Apparently not quite.” The Professor said, his voice quiet but utterly sharp. Oh yeah, he was mad. “And after all of that, I had to explain not only his escape but your rather untimely absence to Director Manning.”

“Dad-”

“Who, in case it has escaped your notice, is not your biggest fan. He is not pleased with your continuous ‘jaunts,’ and neither am I.”

“Dad,” Hellboy tried again, swallowing against the lump in his throat. It never failed; no matter how old he got, his father’s disapproval still struck him just as hard as it had when he’d been just a boy, “I had to get out. I had…stuff to think about. I needed some time.”

“And I needed you _here.”_ Hellboy winced. His father stood, refilling his glass. “I _need_ Manning to continue his funding, I _need_ him to trust my judgement enough to greenlight what needs to be done. What I _do not_ need is to have to spend an evening every week explaining to him why he shouldn’t keep you _locked in your room.”_

“Come on, pops…”

“No,” his father interrupted, voice hard. “No, my son. _No._ I love you, my boy, as if you were my own flesh and blood, but there is too much at stake at this moment. I do not quite yet know what is happening, but I have my fears. And I must know that I can depend on you.” Hellboy looked at his booted feet, ashamed. “Can I depend on you?”

“Yeah, dad.” He mumbled, utterly subdued. “Of course you can. I…won’t go out again without asking. I just…I wanted to see Liz.”

If anything, the sigh his father made at that made him feel even worse. “Elizabeth does not wish to see you right now, Hellboy. She wished for space, from you and this world. You must respect that.”

Hellboy knew that. He did, alright? He wasn’t fucking stupid. She’d said as much. Said she needed some time to see if she could make it out there in the real world. She wanted freedom, a normal life. Hellboy got that. Of course he got that. It didn’t mean that it wasn’t a hard pill to swallow.

“But you’re okay, right?” He asked quietly. There was another sigh and a soft ‘clink’ as the crystal tumbler was set down. The small and frail – oh so frail – figure of his elderly father moved to stand before him. He let himself be pulled into a hug, careful to hold his strength at bay as he held his father back. He rested his face in the white hair, eyes flickering close. It hurt Hellboy to think that something had happened to him when he hadn’t been there. It scared him more.

How was he supposed to know that a simple visit would turn into something like this?

It didn’t matter. His dad was right; he needed Hellboy to be on point right now, that was clear as the bruises on his pop’s throat. Hellboy tightened his grip slightly; it would never happen again. And when he found that clockwork piece of shit, he’d pull him apart limb for limb for this.

“I am fine, John managed to interfere before any real damaged could be done.”

Hellboy pulled back, surprised. “Myers? What was he doing out?”

“I had asked him to accompany me to examine the body. I had hoped he might have some insights.” His father said calmly. “When he began his examination, we were attacked. Without a doubt, I would have died had it not been for John – at great cost to himself, I may add.”

Hellboy stiffened, every muscle drawing tight, and without notice his hands tightened ever so on his father’s shoulders. “What happened?”

The words were bitten out, a command more than a question, and Hellboy didn’t even have time to question the harsh sound of them before his stomach twisted violently at the answer. “He was stabbed, quite viciously, with an iron sword. Quite painful given his witch heritage.” His father explained slowly, expression curious as he watched the dark twist of Hellboy’s lips. “And then when he gave pursuit our guards tasered him. He is currently recovering in his room.”

Hellboy was turning before he fully registered the thought, practically storming from the study. He didn’t notice the interested his way his father watched after him, his mind suddenly filled with a driving urge to get to Myers. He glared hotly at every agent he passed, hands balled at his side. Fucking _jackasses,_ attacking Myers like that. Letting the real enemy get away. What the hell? Yeah, Myers was their prisoner but couldn’t they stop to use their heads for one _god damn minute?_

His father could have been –

His dad had almost –

He had almost been –

If Myers hadn’t…and then they fucking _tasered_ him. Fucking Christ, the morons.

He yanked the door to his old room open without preamble, the raging circle of his angered mind coming to a grinding halt at the sight that greeted him. Myers was asleep on his childhood bed, clad in a pair of flannel sleep pants and a faded old Led Zeppelin shirt. The clothes were his own, back when he’d been a teenager and fit in them, and Hellboy had forgotten all about them. At the sound of the door opening, Myers began to stir. Hellboy watched, his chest feeling queerly tight as the smaller half-demon’s delicate features furrowed in pain as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

For a long moment the two stared at each other, Hellboy’s utterly evaluating while Myers' was a mix between surprise and nervousness. Which wasn’t a surprise really, when Hellboy thought about the rough way he’d treated him that afternoon. Hellboy swallowed around the uncomfortable feeling of guilt that had only grown since his conversation with his father. Aware of the eyes of the guards behind him, Hellboy stepped fully into the room and shut the door. Myers struggled into a sitting position and Hellboy glanced away uncomfortably as the oversized shirt slid down, revealing the bare skin of Myers’ shoulder.

“…Hey, HB.” Myers greeted quietly.

Hellboy’s head jerked up in surprise at the nickname, though he didn’t know why. Most of the base called him that or ‘Red,’ it wasn’t surprising that Myers had picked up on it. “Pops told me what happened.” Hellboy said, voice stiff. “You okay?”

Myers gave him a faint smile. “Yeah. We heal quickly, as I’m sure you know. I’ll be fine in the morning. Besides, your guys did a good job patching me up. Maybe they felt bad about the whole tasing thing.”

“They’re fucking dickshits.” Hellboy snarled, the sound sharp and hard, like a bark in the silence and Myers’ eyes blew wide in surprise, shifting backwards slightly, as if to get away from him. The sight of it only made him feel worse.

“It’s okay, cousin.” Myers said, his voice soft and placating, as if he was gentling an angry dog, and it only made that strange tightness in his chest pull even tauter. “I can understand how it happened given everything. I am still considered a hostile.”

“Don’t excuse stupid.” He growled out, arms crossing. “They let that fucker escape.”

Myers’ head cocked to the side, brows furrowed slightly. “That they did. I actually have some thoughts on that. The Professor and I were talking, he’s fairly certain he may know who the automaton is, but he needs more information.” The small demon slid his legs over the bed, moving to stand, “I know a place where we could probably get some good intel on – _woah.”_

* * *

The rush of dizziness took John like a hammer to the head and he let out a whimper of confused distressed as his knees buckled the moment they took his weight. An arm was suddenly around his waist, as thick and hard as iron, and it was all that kept him from crashing into the floor. The hole in his side throbbed, not yet fully healed, and John took a shaky breath through his nose as he felt the ground swirl beneath his hooves. After a moment it passed, the nausea and lightheadedness fading. He took his weight back, his legs trembling but holding this time. He opened his eyes, blinking to get rid of the strange fuzzy feeling floating around his brain, and was greeted with the sight of a broad chest and his own hand, fisted tightly in the faded black t-shirt.

John released his hold, blushing as he awkwardly tried to smooth out the wrinkles he made, but only felt his face burn hotter at how hard and firm the muscles felt under his palm. He swallowed, chiding himself for being ridiculous. What was he, sixteen? He peeked up at the Alpha, biting his lip when he found his cousin staring down at him, expression indistinguishable. He was unsure where he stood with his standoffish relative; Hellboy had obviously been angry about something earlier, even if John was unsure what it was he could have done to incite the emotion.

“Sorry.” He said quietly, “I got a little dizzy, probably from the blood loss. Guess I’m not as healed as I thought.”

The Omega moved to pull away, awkward with the realization that Hellboy’s arm was still around his waist. The bigger Alpha let him do so, though he did not move to step back or restore any distance between them and John had to fight the feeling of being trapped with the bed at his back and the hulking figure at his front.

“Uh, as I was saying. There’s a place, the Troll Market. Anything can be bought there for the right amount, including information. If this guy was really Kroenen and he’s working with Rasputin – well that name’s big, even among the non-human folks. Somebody would have heard something about it.” John explained, fighting the urge to fidget. Hellboy hadn’t moved, wasn’t saying anything, he was just staring and it was…well, it was weirding him out. “I know how to get in, but I don’t think they’ll let you in without me, which is a problem because I don’t think Manning is into the idea of letting ever leave this room, much less the BRPD and-”

“John.”

The sound of his name from his cousin’s lips, the first time he’d ever heard it, John realized with a jolt, silenced his rambles immediately. A hand was suddenly on his chin, cutting his staring contest with Hellboy’s pecs short as it forced his face up. Amber eyes watched him, unreadable but penetrating. “Yeah?”

A thick thumb brushed over jaw, leaving a trail of heat in its wake and John couldn’t stop the shudder, his tail curling around his waist to keep from seeking out the Alpha’s. They were so _close;_ all John could smell was Hellboy’s distinctive scent and it was making him lightheaded all over again.

“Thank you for saving my dad.”

John chuckled uncomfortably, feeling thrown and strangely exposed. “No thanks needed, I like the Professor.”

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip out of nervousness and he shivered again when Hellboy’s eyes focused intently only the motion. The thumb traveled up, pressing just below his bottom lip, parting his lips ever so slightly. John let out a loud breath, feelings the tell-tale pulls of arousal in his groin.

“Still.” Hellboy’s voice was somehow even lower than it normally was, the deep sound making him want to squirm. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah I did.” John said quietly, his words a whisper in the suddenly heavy air between them, “he’s your father. And I…I meant what I said, cousin.” He took a gamble and reached out, a hand wrapping hesitantly around the raised forearm. The fingers on his neck twitched at the touch, but other than that there was no acknowledgement of the move from the Alpha. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“I’m starting to believe that.” Hellboy rumbled, the sound making John’s eyes flutter shut. The fingers slid up his neck, the thumb dragging along his face as they carded through his curls. The grip tightened and tugged harshly, and John let out a hiss of surprise, eyes flying open to find the Alpha still staring intensely down at him. “Don’t make me regret that, princess.”

“I won’t,” John breathed, his heart beating wildly in his chest even as he refused to truly hope, “I swear I won’t.”

Gods, they were still so close. Hellboy’s breath was a warmth on his face, the grip in his hair making his insides clench in arousal so blatant John was nearly ashamed by it. He’d never imagined being around an Alpha could set him off so easily. The grip in his hair tightened even further and John gasped as he arched slightly to relieve the pressure and realized belatedly that the move exposed the entirely of his throat.

“What is this?” Hellboy asked, his voice nearly a growl. “What the hell is about you that.. _.”_ A nose was suddenly pressed against his throat and John gasped, his free hand entangling itself in Hellboy’s shirt once more, eyes shut in disbelief. “Christ, you _smell…_ is this because you’re a – what the fuck was it – Omega?”

John blinked in surprise, pulling back to stare at his cousin. “Where did you hear that word?”

Hellboy’s eyes flashed warningly. “Somethin’ wrong with me knowing it?”

“No, of course not.” John said quickly. “It’s just…you didn’t seem to know much about our kind. I thought…”

“I overheard you and pop talking.” Hellboy admitted begrudgingly. John sighed, releasing his hold on the Alpha and sliding past him even as every inch of himself seemed to protest the idea. The grip on his hair was released easy enough and once he had some room again, the Omega’s head felt clearer. He had to remind himself that Hellboy knew nothing of their world, it was only fair to explain…even if it was awkward as hell.

“I don’t know, honestly. Maybe?” John said after clearing his throat. “I’ve never met another one of our kind besides you, so I don’t even really know. But yes, I’m an Omega. Which is, I guess yeah, a woman in comparison to human terms. You’re a male, an Alpha.”

“You don’t look like a woman.”

“We don’t have too. If you heard the talk, you must have heard that.” John said testily, crossing his arms with a huff as his tail twitched at his side in annoyance. Hellboy just seemed to find his irritation funny if his sharp grin was anything to go by.

“I don’t see no tits.”

“Classy.” John said dryly, refusing to rise to the bait even as he puffed up in indignation. “And I don’t need breasts, I can feed my young just find without them.”   

The smirk on Hellboy’s face became curious. “What? Really? How do they eat then?”

“Look it's…it’s hard to explain.” John said uncomfortably. “Just trust me, I can, okay?”

“How the hell do they come out?” Hellboy asked, head cocked to the side like one of his cats. “You shit them out or something? It’s not like you have pussy or something.”

John stiffened in shock. The… _uncouth_ rotten little – to just say that! Did the Alpha have no shame at all? Hellboy took his furious silence for something else entirely though. A strange change came over the Alpha’s face.

“Fuck.” The curse was practically breathed out.

The Omega froze, unsure once more. “What?”

Hellboy’s chest was rising and falling slightly quicker than before and John stumbled backwards, hooves clacking loudly on the thin carpet and the cement below it as the bigger half-devil approached. He fell back against one of the large bookcases in the room, heart pounding once more when his cousin came to a stop in front of him. “Jesus,” Hellboy rasped, “you do, don’t you?”

“W-What?” John stammered, trying to inch away off to the side, “that’s not an even remotely appropriate thing to ask.”

A hand slammed against the wall, cutting off his escape. John jumped at it, staring up at the looming form of his cousin with wide eyes. His Alpha-scent was somehow – impossibly – stronger than before.

“Hellboy…” John muttered nervously, every terrible thing he’d ever heard about how breeders were treated by their own kind flashing through his head. But the Alpha didn’t seem threatening, if anything he seemed lost, expression confused and mouth slack.

Hellboy breath stuttered slightly. “Myers.”

His eyes slid down the Omegas frame, from his face to his chest and lower, and good god, John was wet. He had been since Hellboy’s nose had been at his throat if he was completely honest. Hellboy swallowed harshly, eyes locked on John’s hips, and the Omega willed himself to not get hard, chanted it in his mind over and over again as he squeezed his eyes close, begging his body not to respond to the stare.  

Suddenly the sound of the door opening interrupted the moment.

“Red, you in here – oh.”

Hellboy went completely stiff, his head snapping over to stare at the beautiful dark haired woman who stood in the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Liz, you little cockblocker.


End file.
